<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Scale-found companionship by Dragonaut117</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740938">Scale-found companionship</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonaut117/pseuds/Dragonaut117'>Dragonaut117</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>League of Legends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, F/M, Furry, Incomplete, NSFW, Rough Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:22:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonaut117/pseuds/Dragonaut117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shyvana goes off on an expedition to the Shuriman continent to further Demacian understanding of dragons to better combat them. Forced ashore prematurely, they're ambushed by the butcher of the sands. Executing her duties as a soldier, she takes him aloft. Stranded, the two are forced to acknowledge their bodily needs.</p><p>(I've decided to continue this story after all. I'm thinking there'll be about 2 or 3 chapters more until it's done.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shyvana/Renekton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Stranded</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shyvana had grown to hate the near-constant babble of Demacians, but even worse was their seemingly unending desire to hurl insults and distaste at her without restraint. Still, she quelled it all in the name of her king. It wasn’t her fault she was a half-dragon or human. The tainting of her very being by the magic that thus excluded her existence from both groups was all involuntary. </p><p>She would hold strong for Jarvan, the man she had sworn an oath to and to whom she’d decided to dedicate her life. After all, he was no ordinary human. He didn’t lower himself to their levels and would attempt to see her eye to eye, as another individual</p><p>To avoid conflict Shyvana would often attempt to isolate herself whenever necessary, they didn’t want her unless they needed her after all, and they often drew her ire, but even that was impossible. She’d found herself chained to the Dragonguard and even within there abrasion with others existed. Many joined the dragon guard to defend their homes, or out of revenge after a dragon had razed theirs. She didn't hold it against them, it was perfectly understandable, but she didn't like their unjust hatred of her specifically either, especially when she'd saved them countless times, risking herself against foes she could hardly triumph over. </p><p>Travel fatigue had begun to set in as well and she'd started longing once again to take to the skies and stretch her wings, to soar above the clouds with Jarvan alongside her, to feel his tender touch upon her scaled skin.</p><p> </p><p>They’d had ventured out to research and document more diverse dragon physiology and Shyvana was being used as a guide, draconic-translator and defender. This level of exploitation was necessary and she'd since grown used to it but it also meant that she'd have to tolerate Anden's constant annoyances and bodily inspections, something she hoped she’d never get used to. </p><p>It was late into the night when they finally arrived on the Shuriman continent. The intense heat was one thing but they'd been forced ashore sooner than expected as they’d drawn near. The marai, a Vastayan clan that Demacia had previously encountered, had grown hostile and had done surprisingly substantial damage to their exploration fleet. In the dark, their forms truly seemed twisted evil, their forms gruesome and aglow with radiant purple energy. The only boon to be salvaged from this encounter was that she was finally off the ship, as she'd found the natural rocking by the ocean while aboard almost as unbearable as humans. Thankfully, was no one was harmed, they'd have likely found some way to blame her otherwise. </p><p>Now, as they'd made landfall upon the desolate shores at night she found that the world seemed surprisingly serene, peaceful even. Perhaps it was because she was on the ancestral land, near her forebears the celestial dragons and was more in tune with this inherently magical location, maybe it was because she was finally away from the majority of Demacians that so despised her existence, or simply, maybe it was because she was off that accursed, cramped ship that was constantly battered to and fro by the waves. </p><p>Regardless, as soon as her shift was up she’d fallen asleep uncharacteristically quickly when they’d finally made suitable camp for the night and was enjoying a deserved rest beneath the desert climate’s cool night sky, even despite the Petricite collar they’d grown fond of forcing upon her.</p><p>When the peace was finally broken she’d found some satisfaction in her magic’s liberation. The camp was raided early in the morning, set upon by some rogue Shurimans borne through the sands by Crocodilian mounts. The attack was ruthless but both the Dragonguard and the few dauntless vanguard that accompanied them were weathered by battle and always alert. In the few minutes before the attack was fully upon them, she had been roused from rest and uncollared. A relatively young vanguard, Cithria, had given her a quick report of what was occurring but none could foresee the battle’s result. </p><p>---<br/>
I fought them first within my most human form, sparring with them as they approached. Their mounts were fast and had seemingly unending stamina, dashing in quickly and, if the target they’d chosen wasn’t dead, attempting to trample over them in their charge. </p><p>I was used to fighting much larger foes and so I could reliably hold my ground at this point. Many spears attempted to impale me at different times, their sharp edges meeting only the braces of my gauntlets as they glanced away. At one point I’d even managed to grip one of them by the shaft and wrench its wielder free from their mount. In the commotion, he was immediately trampled by another attacking rider and was no doubt instantly killed. I saw peeks of his head amid the battle, shattered and open like some odd and exotic fruit, the sand’s voracity already swallowing up his blood. </p><p>What none expected was the butcher of the sands’ arrival. In hindsight, the large crocodilian creatures should’ve been obvious towards the coming of the preeminent but it had truly caught them off guard. </p><p>He had seemingly burst forth from the sand itself, the brown ocean spitting him out in all his rage and fury to wreak death upon them. His stature was large and imposing, towering easily above all of her men. He might even be able to rival a seated Silverwing lancer’s height if he ever stood up completely, his body hunched in bulging muscle. He was brutal and animalistic in his execution his large curved blade sawing, slicing and chopping easily through swaths of men regardless of their loyalty. Both friend and foe seemed to fall in his bloodlust and I was forced quickly back. I’d position myself between him and the rest of my corps as I always had but my human form was unfit for such an onslaught. Once his blade rent my skin the first time I knew I had to unleash the full extent of my ability. </p><p>I ruminated on the thoughts of cruelty within me, focusing on all the hatred I’d been exposed to and all the men who’d extended nothing but vitriol. This was usual, however, and this hatred alone had since become inadequate to fuel my transformation, their braying growing into an inadequate. Next, I turned to the few companions I had, the few within the Dragonguard who saw me as more than a monster, human even. I found Anden the researcher, Yessenia, the Lieutenant. Finally, when even those proved insufficient, I went to my heritage. The violence of my mother, the rage of my brothers and sisters I’d quelled, the insolence of my ancestors above. I found the hate of my very existence, at my inability to be accepted by any, the rejection on no worthy basis. But I’d since learnt to love myself more.</p><p> </p><p>Only when I’d exhausted all of them and still not found motivation did I focus on Jarvan, my king. I cared for him like none other and had tended to him in his weakness. He’d done his best to find a place for me where I could exist somewhat peacefully and would visit me whenever possible. We’d spend hours together and I’d sworn myself to him, as he to me. We’d made our vows and would carry those through.</p><p>I thought of him and the gentleness with which he approached me. His soft caressing of my skin and his touch upon my scaled body, yet the restraint that followed. A noble control of his yearnings that displayed the fullest extent of his character. I truly loved him, and that was enough.</p><p>Without a second thought, I set upon the butcher, my body renewed, my fury infernal.</p><p>For a moment my counterattack seemed successful, my assault shocking the butcher into caution despite his bloodlust, but he was an evidently skilled fighter. Throwing his huge blade to the ground, he wrestled with me and, as he did so, I felt his form enlarge. </p><p>I gouged and clawed at his form, inflicting great gashes that tore large clumps of meat from his face. His scaled form was strong, but I was strong enough to shatter even an earth dragon’s stony mane. My teeth raked his form as we brawled in the sand, attempting not just to restrain him, but to end him right there and then. </p><p>All my efforts appeared to be for nought, however, as once a green glow began to surround him all his wounds were quickly mended with magical energy, all of the damage I inflicted upon him swept away like the sands beneath us. I realised then that time and power must’ve meant nothing to him and so I pressed on further and further. </p><p>I let the fury fully consume me, allowing the flames to easily pour forth out of my mouth like the Petricite gargoyles that adorned The Grand Plaza on a gloomy day. Even this seemed to be of little effect, his body weathered not only by the scorching desert heat, but also arcane magics that were no doubt abound the landscape. </p><p>Finally, as I felt him hurl his weight against my own, almost causing me to collapse back onto the sands, did I know what to do. The vanguard Cithria managed to break away from combat once again and deliver to me the newest set of orders. They were quite simple. “Execute plan Daisy.”</p><p>With that, I took to the skies, not by myself, but with Renekton’s body in my clutches. Even in the air we fought, one group of my talons permanently embedded within his body at all times to keep him hoisted. The flight was near impossible at times, as the positioning of my wings only allowed me to properly attack him while losing altitude. Several times we plummeted to the earth and crashed in the sands, each time we did we’d fight again and again for what felt like forever until I could once again restrain him enough to drag him upwards. </p><p>Only when we were far away from camp did I finally stop, only when I was sure several hundred kilometres had passed. We were up in the mountains by then and the day had properly broken, the sun now sitting proudly in the sky as it warmed the earth. Still, it was rather cool at this altitude, and, though it wouldn’t begin to snow just yet, the atmosphere was cool enough to cause the occasional patch or puddle of ice across the ground.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A dragon, a crocodile, a rabbit, a fire.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The build-up continues. Approximately one thousand words about the aftermath of the impact, and perhaps, the lead up to intimacy?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The climate she experienced was nothing like Demacia and seemed to resonate with her. Perhaps it was due to heritage, her very being connected to the land below her and the magic that flowed through it. On some level, being on the targonian levels made her feel whole. Still, there wasn't much to do up here.</p><p>Shyvana had found that even in the sun's peak, the area remained fairly cool, the winds rolling in onto the mountainside would buffet off the cliffs and valleys to flow into the deep creeks, keeping the area awash with fresh air.</p><p>It was rather peaceful, or at least it would be if she wasn't stuck with a blood thirsty, killer humanoid crocodile. After Shyvana had managed to drag Renekton onto the hills she'd promptly crash landed into the rocks, the strain of toting a several hundred kilogram man-gator finally setting on her. Her draconic form had promptly dissipated, leaving her mostly-human body to bear the brunt of the force. In the collision, she'd fractured her arm, the bone breaking with an audible snap that had made her cringe at the time. </p><p>Thankfully, the impact was enough to finally knock Renekton unconscious. Apparently being dropped from several kilometres was too much for even him to withstand. Their bodies fell several metres apart and, as Shyvana lay there in pain, her breaths shallow as she cradled her broken arm,  she was forced to listen to Renekton's deep heavings, his massive chest erupting a gale as a gale. Calling it a snore was an understatement. </p><p>When Shyvana could finally move, she'd roll onto her front before rising. Glancing over at her larger opponent, she could see his now shrunken form shimmering with a calm teal light as his body was being embalmed in a personal mirage.</p><p>She felt strange looking at him. Yes, there was some anger within her, one that was tempting her to assail him as he slept, to end the supposed god-warrior right there. But there was something else too, a curiosity and maybe even a vague sympathy. She'd heard tales of him from both Demacians and her draconic kin, recounts of his unbridled, unending fury and ferocity, but now, laying there helplessly, he just seemed normal. As normal as a 6 foot crocodile man could look at least. </p><p>She felt that she might've understood him. </p><p>Fully rising, she began surveying her surroundings, embarking on a short trek through the mountains. Eventually, she arrived at a tall tree she'd never seen before. It was massive, seeming to be at least 30 feet tall with a trunk that must've stretched the width of tens of men. Though the branches stretched long and far, they would also hang surprisingly low, allowing its younger bark to be easily accessible. </p><p>The leaves of the tree were just as large, and very long, each one being strong enough to tightly wind around her arm several times before binding. The pain that shot through her as she set the splint was intense but necessary. She affixed a large, unyielding length of wood to her upper arm, that she broke off and carefully carved down with her nails. It had taken several minutes but was worth it. Finally, she stripped more branches, leaves, and even some bark from the tree as she sat under it to catch her breath. </p><p>It didn’t take her to fall into sleep, exhaustion taking hold of her once again as she leaned against the tree. </p><p>She was roused from her sleep an indeterminate amount of time later by the loud snapping and cracking of branches. Despite stirring, she refused to awaken fully just yet. That was until the smell of fresh meat being cooked wafted over her. </p><p>Her eyelids slid open just enough to allow her to see. She was still leaned against the tree, but now it was clear that several hours had passed. It must’ve been near night as, despite the sun’s waning light still being present, she could clearly see the stars beginning to dot the sky in droves. The sight was beautiful and prompted her to open her eyes fully and gaze upwards, great galaxies, nebulae, stars and planets carpeted the almost satin-quality the sky took on, the clouds seeming to blanket the full surface while being transparent enough that light easily penetrated. She continued on in awe until a rough voice snatched away her attention. </p><p>“Beautiful, isn’t it?” It was Renekton, his voice low and rumbly, “My brother and I used to gaze at them as kids all those centuries ago. I remember… one day at night, him and I...”</p><p>He shook his head as if refusing the memories he’d begun to dig up, then returned to his task.</p><p>Renekton sat a good distance away from her, a small fire started. Above it was a rabbit on a spitroast, his massive hands slowly turning it so that it even cooked. The sight and smell made her mouth salivate. She adjusted herself as she sat, unintentionally announcing her arousal. Renekton’s head raised to meet her gaze.</p><p>The sight was unreal, his massive form crouched over the flames. </p><p>Without a word, he plucked the rabbit from the spit and tossed it gingerly to her. His aim was right and, as she flinched in shock, it landed perfectly on her lap. </p><p>She didn’t care that it had dirtied her clothing or that her enemy had just made her a meal completely unprompted, she dug in gratefully. </p><p>She only stopped when she had completely stripped the rabbit down, its scrumptious flesh filling her stomach. It had been cooked to perfection, its meat easily separating from the bone and filled with juice. Game meat was often tough, but great attention had been paid so render the rabbit properly so that it remained tender. Though it hadn’t been flavoured, it was delicious, and she finished it rather quickly. </p><p>When she’d finished it she leaned against the tree once again with a satisfied sigh. This prompted a sound from Renekton, halfway between a grunt and a laugh as he put several more rabbits on the spit. </p><p>Shyvana felt a bit of shame at her act and found herself uncharacteristically stuttering, “Err, thank you.” </p><p>Renekton grunted again and nodded to her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Through the flames, lust?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Both hold thoughts of the other, inherently personal and born of their deepest, most intimate desires. This chapter explores Renekton primarily, breaking from the previous Shyvana-focused mould.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shyvana found herself questioning the state of the situation. Why hadn’t either of them shown aggression yet? Why were they both still breathing and alive? Before her was the butcher of the sands, the desert’s wrath and bloody fury, a symbol of its scorching brutality. And yet, there he was, sitting behind a fire, looking as small as a mountain of a man could look, his body leaning, his shoulders hunched.</p>
<p>She observed his features closely, looking intently at his body. His posture compacted his form, and his muscles, causing them to bulge and compress. The lighter tones of his from contrasted easily with the darker scales nearing his back and sides, even in shadow the lines were clearly drawn. It was a warm green, halfway between brown and the colour of young olives. She could see the lines that crisscrossed his chest, back and forth, splitting it into hundreds of small segments. These were scars, his body seemed void of those, no doubt cleansed by his magic. These were the scales that covered his body and seemed soft to the touch as they folded with his skin. They reminded her of the one covering her own body, the smooth yet textured feel they had on the outside of her thighs. She wondered what they might feel like. </p>
<p>Unlike him, she still very much had soft, human skin covering her body and now she found herself touching it unconsciously. One hand slid along her own arm to touch her wrist, feeling the softness and her arteries and veins underneath, the slight pull when she flexed her fingers. She wondered if he was still capable of such careful motions, she wanted to see him try. No doubt some versatility was hidden beneath his exterior, some deftness, as the fire he’d started was neat and well put together. </p>
<p>Her other hand moved to her thighs, to press against it. Feeling her own soft flesh and just beneath it, the toned muscles.</p>
<p>She continued to look to Renekton, taking in his form, picturing it well within her mind. He easily towered above her, even without growing larger, and she found herself thinking of his body enclosing her own, holding her. It enraptured her. </p>
<p>It felt nice to be treated with such gentleness, only one other person had truly done so and he was now several thousand kilometres away. Yet here was another, one who was not only likely capable of such tenderness, but one whose body could envelop her own, and shield her. Still, the thought of Jarvan stuck to her mind and shifted it. </p>
<p>Now she felt troubled, why had her mind wandered like this. She thrust the thought of Renekton from herself, crushing it under a mental foot as she inhaled fresh air and relief, Jarvan was dedicated to her and waiting. </p>
<p>When her eyes refocused she found that her fingers had moved further inwards, and was now only a couple paces away from her crotch. </p>
<p>She pulled her hand away from the area and looked up, her eyes falling upon Renekton once again. Through the fire, she couldn’t tell what he was looking at, the small slit of his eye imperceptible and hazy, but she could vaguely see herself in the reflection and felt that he’d seen and understood everything that just occurred. </p>
<p>----</p>
<p>Renekton had long thought himself incapable of feeling anything beyond loathing. Nasus had so consumed his mind that nary a waking moment would go without a passing thought of him. Even in his dreams he could not find peace, his thoughts pervaded and perverted with malicious memories. Renekton would often search for the source of his single emotion, the origin of the thing that turned his thoughts malefic. These mental escapades would often involve delving deep into his own mind where he would witness events that occurred almost a millennia ago. </p>
<p>He would see himself alongside his brother, both human, once as they were kids in a field, next as he climbed the altar to ascension. He remembered his brother’s crumpled body against his own, his wasting weight, as light as handfuls of sand. He recalled the feeling of letting himself go, giving his life for his brother’s, and being redeemed. He reclaimed the many battles he was in, his brother’s guidance leading him to victory, his sibling’s unrivalled intellect parsing together the perfect plan each time. He recollected the most painful imagery afterwards. The desperation of both of them. The coldness. The darkness. The fury giving way to fear, adrenaline to pain, strength to weeping and sobs into the night. The tenebrosity deep within the tomb embraced him as whispers clawed and grasped at his mind. Once he finally saw light again he was born again and full of rage. But was that really him? Why had his older brother put him through this? Why had it come to this? Did he not love him? Love. </p>
<p>The thoughts brought great disturbance to him, and in unseen moments of weakness Renekton would often let the teardrops flow, but even this he questioned. Whether even his sadness was his own, or was it simply another falsehood pushed onto him, crocodile tears.</p>
<p>Love…</p>
<p>A soldier’s duty is not to love, and in his other life, Renekton had fully dedicated himself to being a soldier, it was one of the only things that he had thought himself good at. His proficiency had also brought pride to his elders and brother, spurring him on. </p>
<p>Some soldiers were motivated by their romantic love, some would often find them after the ruins of the battlefield, but like many, Renekton had never found a moment to experience it by himself. He lived longer than many lifetimes, yet not once had he embraced a woman as a woman, and now he’d found himself unable to do so.</p>
<p>Who would like his disturbing form, his animal visage? Who could find comfort in unyielding scales, almost incapable of tenderness and forbearance? His very form seemed to scream about his lack of humility, and so it was often assumed that he was ravenous and would ravage others. Irregardless of what he desired, how he acted, or who he truly was, those judgements were passed without truth, almost becoming self-prophetic. </p>
<p>And yet here sat this lady before him.</p>
<p>After his skirmish he’d found himself weakened in a crater, only remembering the aerial scuffle before the plummet. He felt himself shatter on the rocks below, immediately falling into darkness, only to wake up again hours later. He was unruined, as always. Not even death being capable of freeing him from the pain of existence. </p>
<p>He’d wandered the landscape for a while before happening upon his victor again, lain against a tree, injured and asleep.</p>
<p>He had felt a great swell of emotions, rage and anger first and foremost, but curiosity, pain and bitterness underlaid them. As she slept he’d drawn close, inspecting her with his eyes. </p>
<p>He recognised the strength within her easily. After all, she had lifted him high above the ground to a sufficient height that crushed his body. Even then, he looked deeper, searching for something more within her, that was just physical capability. He noticed the femininity inherent to her, the curvature of her hips, the breastplate shaped to accommodate her chest, the fabric stretched over her muscled thighs and legs.</p>
<p>Though much smaller than his, she bore scales of her own, particularly around her face, the rough, deep shades of purple splotches contrasting the lighter shade of the skin itself. He noted how the slight protuberances mirrored the ones all along his body and he wanted to confirm their texture, to caress her cheek. Her skin seemed discoloured, almost as if her whole body had been lightly bruised, yet he found the colour surprisingly pleasant and lively. As if it confirmed that she was alive at a glance. Her hair was neatly wound into a long braided plait that hung off of her like a reptile’s tail. He found that last particular detail oddly attractive and wondered what her hair felt like, whether it could be said to be closer to her scales or her skin. </p>
<p>He thought of holding her in his arms. Surely she would be durable enough to withstand that, to endure the possible roughness of his embrace. He wanted to engage with her, not as warriors, but as another human being, as man and woman like he had never been allowed. He wasn’t sure what might occur between them or whether he was capable of control and restraint when faced with such intimacy.</p>
<p>He wanted to be with her, to exist alongside her and her with him. He thought of her touch, her beauty, her hair, her face, her body, her strength. He even began thinking of her personality, forming it from scratch within his mind as no proper conversation yet existed between them. </p>
<p>These thoughts were what had filled his imagination and had quelled him further. </p>
<p>He had spared her life then, something even he barely understood, but he had done so.</p>
<p>When he caught her eyes locked intently at him through the fire he wasn’t sure what to think. But in that poor, warm lighting, her swore he saw her hand move about herself, and he dared to let the thoughts tempt him once again, to let images of her body into his barren mindscape, free from his typical suppression.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(This piece is experimental and exploratory for me, so I apologise if there are shifts that are too drastic in tone, perspective etc. . I was primarily testing the limits of my writing capabilities at the time and exploring styles at the time before deciding to actually finish the story.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>